Everything Light and Good
by LostNSpace
Summary: Armed with an interview assignment, a reluctant Lois finds herself truly alone with Superman for the first time since he discovered the bittersweet secret they share.
1. Chapter 1

_Armed with an interview assignment, a reluctant Lois finds herself truly alone with Superman for the first time since he discovered the bittersweet secret they share. _

_Disclaimer: I don't own Superman, the characters and settings contained here. This is a work of fan fiction written for the sheer, unpaid pleasure of it._

_Author's Note: This story begins immediately after the closing scene of **Superman Returns**. Rated T for language and adult content. 6500 words. Reviews wanted and welcomed!!_

Everything Light and Good

by LostNSpace

For a long time after Superman shot into the darkness, Lois stood in the dew-damp grass, watching the arc he etched across the canvas of night, her heart threatening to shove its way through bone and muscle and flesh to follow him.

She hugged herself as his parting reassurance echoed in her mind. _I'm always around. _Always around, and always just beyond her reach.

But he was home, and home to stay. She let the realization sink in, good and deep, then put her head into her hands and cried. Tears of joy. Tears of sorrow. Knowing an impressive stockpile of crazy ups and downs awaited her as far into the future as the mind could fathom.

When the hard sobs had stopped, she wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her robe, took a last lingering look in the direction where he had become one with the stars, and headed inside to a sleeping Richard, and to the child born of a love as impervious as Superman himself.

* * *

"It's been two months, Lois. We need another interview. Your usual material. Edgy and bold." Perry braced his hands on his desktop in that unyielding pose that declared no room for argument. "Name the day, and I'll make sure he gets the message."

"'He'?" Perching on the chair across from him, she crossed her legs and studied her bitten-to-the-quick fingernails. "He who, Chief?"

When he didn't reply, she glanced up to find him scowling at her. "I chose a hell of a time to give up my cigars," he muttered. "You're a pain in the ass, Lane. I hope my nephew knows what he's fallen in love with."

"Richard appreciates my quirks."

"To each his own." He stabbed a finger in her direction. "I want that interview before someone else gets it."

Rising to her feet, she folded her arms across her breasts and returned his hard stare. "If you're talking about another Superman interview, I'm afraid my answer is no."

One snowy brow crept nearly to his hairline. "No?"

"Not this time, Chief. I'm in the middle of the story on Senator Halward's recent sexual indiscretions. It's juicy, it's ugly, and it's got my full attention."

"I'll reassign it. This is more important."

"Come on, Perry. You know I don't respond well to threats." She squared her shoulders and despite her hammering pulse, managed a tight smile. "I do agree the public is ready for another Superman interview. He's been far too quiet lately. And there are plenty of reporters in this very office who'd love to—"

"He talks to _you_, Lois. You call, he comes. You ask all the right questions and get answers out of him no other reporter can touch. You have a history with him, for God's sake."

A history that was more hindrance than help to the peaceful life she was struggling to cling to. "I don't even know the guy anymore, Perry. And I'd like to be remembered in the publishing world for something else besides that particular topic."

His eyes narrowed as he straightened. "Since when did you become afraid of Superman?"

"I'm not afraid of him. I just want to write about other events, other people."

"Richard thinks you should take the assignment."

She choked back a laugh. "I truly doubt that."

"Damn it, Lois!" Perry smacked his hands on the desk so abruptly, she startled. "I'll have you know I talked with Richard just this morning. He agrees that you need to barrel through this reticence you've developed regarding Superman. It's affecting your job performance."

Lois blanched, as surprised as she was offended. Why would Richard side with Perry? Why would he lay her out before Superman like some kind of sacrificial offering, and so soon after questioning her sentiments where the Man of Steel was concerned?

"_You cried when they showed him on TV tonight, rescuing those four kids from the tenement fire in Chicago," he'd said two nights ago, clobbering her with his unexpected observation as she climbed into bed beside him._

"_Tears of joy." Setting her alarm clock with all the concentration needed to analyze DNA, she hadn't missed a beat. "Bless those poor kids."_

"_Bless Superman."_

"_Yeah, him too." When she pecked her fiancé on the cheek, turned out her bedside lamp and slowly exhaled into the dark, she'd thought that was the end of it. But then Richard's voice threaded through the heavy quiet._

"_Sometimes I watch you when you read an article about him or see him on the news. Your face changes, you know."_

'_I didn't know." She mouthed a curse into the cover of night and flipped away from him, bunching her pillow beneath her head. _

"_You still love him?"_

_Silence. She didn't know what to say. This entire discussion had sideswiped her._

"_Lois?"_

"_Why are you doing this, Richard? We've already had this talk. I told you I never loved him."_

"_So you lied a little," he said gently. "We all do it from time to time. I guess what I need to know is, do you now?"_

"_What, lie? Only little white ones."_

"_Lois."_

"_Oh, you mean the other thing?" She rolled back toward him and finding his cool hand in the dark, laced her fingers through his. "Richard, I love you. You, okay? Here you are, torturing me, and yet I still love you."_

"_I'm sorry," he said, his voice hollow, disembodied. _

_He didn't believe her. _

It was the last thing she thought before she drifted into a fitful sleep.

So why would he now want to push her to confront the man whose mere appearance on the news 'changed her face'?

_Because he doesn't know your heart_.

And he didn't know other things, either. Like the fact that Superman wasn't the past, but the present, every single minute of every day. Every heartbeat that passed through the little body of the son she'd created with the Man of Steel.

Richard didn't know that. He didn't know her heart, and she was wearing his ring. The sunlight slipping through the blinds glinted on the generous solitaire and stirred her from her ruminations. When she looked up, Perry was on the phone. She could get out while the going was good.

"I've got a meeting with Halward's secretary at three," she mouthed to him, backing toward his office door. "Can I go now?"

The editor's scowl deepened and he clamped a hand over the receiver long enough to bark, "This isn't over."

"It's going to have to be," she said, swinging open the door. "Sorry, but I'm just not your girl on this one."

* * *

The late August night hung rich with the first scents of autumn, but Lois hardly noted the tinge of sweetness in the air as she stepped onto the rooftop of _The Daily Planet_. Her senses were too boiled by frustration.

_Damn you, Perry White_.

It was Jason's bedtime. She wanted to be home, reading him a story. Lounging on the sofa after a long, draining day at work. Maybe soaking in a hot tub with bubbles and a glass of Chardonnay. Instead she was stuck on the roof of a high-rise in the middle of Metropolis, a ball of nerves and consternation.

_Whatever happened to the girl who'd do anything for a story?_

"Shut up," she muttered to her voice of reason. Those days were over. The world had changed, and so had she.

There were other publications she could work for. Hell, there were magazines and news shows that would love to have her onboard. She didn't have to put up with Perry's special brand of bullying.

But somehow, here she stood for the umpteenth time, waiting with bated breath to meet Superman.

Defeat curved her shoulders as she smoothed a weary hand over her ponytail. She didn't want to see him, yet it was all she wanted in the world. She hadn't wanted this assignment, yet watching it go to any other reporter would have been agony. Everything had gone stark black and white in her life since he'd returned, no shades of gray. And after the unsettling exchange with Richard the other night, the fragile emotional balance she'd achieved regarding Superman had dissolved with a series of intense dreams, from which she'd awakened trembling and achingly _alive _in places that marked her an unfaithful woman, if only in mind. Sometimes she cried for no reason, too, if the evening was especially star-spangled and the breeze just silky enough to remind her of midnight flights in the arms of an angel without wings.

And Richard said her face changed every time Superman flashed across the news.

Her heels made agitated, rhythmic clicks on the concrete as she strolled the parameter of the rooftop, her arms folded tightly over her heart. There was no sign of him yet, no telltale snap of a cape as he swept in and landed like a magnificent crimson and cobalt bird. No soft footfall, no softer greeting. _How are you tonight, Miss Lane?_

A shiver went through her as the cool wind teased the wisps of hair escaped from her ponytail. This particular rooftop had been their meeting place more than once, the launching pad of unrequited desires, a place of sweet fantasies. With every step she took across its concrete expanse, though, it was icy reality that thrashed her.

She still loved him.

Maybe she'd gotten skilled at setting the thought of him aside when moments with Richard called for it—but then the ghost of Superman always found her again, his sensitive, noble features playing across her mind's eye like a runaway film reel. The world worshipped him, too, but Lois alone loved him best, whether she wanted it or not. And she didn't know what the hell to do about it.

"Good evening, Miss Lane," said a low voice behind her.

Right on time.

Bracing herself, she turned to find him balanced on the high brick wall surrounding the rooftop. He really was a knight in shining tights, she thought as she watched him float down from the wall. And he was here for her. To talk to her. To give her his invaluable time. Try as she might to deny it, just standing alone with him here above a world that so clamored for him made her feel…significant. Others would kill for this scenario.

And there was always the undeniable fact that she was the only woman to have lain with him, skin to naked skin, the only woman to have known the touch and thrust and shudder of him…and to have conceived his child.

Even if she didn't remember a single, gorgeous moment of it.

The panic squeezing her chest tightened as he drew closer.

"I should let you know right upfront that this is going to be short and sweet, Superman. I didn't want to do this interview." Her words were too sharp and breathless, and the instant softening of his smile made her feel utterly exposed.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said, resting his hands on his hips. "I've been looking forward to seeing you."

"You see me all the time."

"Do I?"

"Don't deny it." She'd felt his watchful, unobtrusive presence around her home so often in the last few weeks, it had become a bittersweet part of every day. He guarded her and Jason, and for that she was beyond grateful.

Right now, however, she needed protection against his devastating appeal. His mere appearance had turned her legs to gelatin. In a desperate grab at composure, she turned away, strolling over to the wall that overlooked the black bulk of a city park below.

And felt him behind her, close, never close enough.

"How are you?" he asked gently.

Lois shrugged, her gaze fixed on the dark mass of trees across the street. "We're all doing well. Richard, Jason and me. Healthy and happy. I couldn't ask for more." She turned to look at him. "You?"

"Fine," he said, but the pleasure had fled his features. It struck a vicious chord of guilt within her. _This could have been a nice interview, damn it._ Instead, she was dragging along all her noisy, clanking emotional luggage to meet him, when what she wanted was to slide into his arms and hug him tight, soak in the preternatural heat of his body, listen to the reassuring thud of his heart beneath her ear. And tell him that despite her roiling emotions where he was concerned, she thanked the heavens every day he had come back to offer order to a planet gone mad.

"Been keeping busy, I'm sure," she said, forcing cheer into her voice.

"Yes." He didn't move, just stood there, watching her with those blue, discerning eyes that could see through almost anything. She was, at the moment, pure mush. No challenge there for his x-ray vision.

"Let's begin, shall we?" Straightening her spine, she withdrew a small recorder from her purse and clicked it on, all business now. "The world has some catching up to do with you after a few weeks."

"I'm ready to answer any questions you have, Lois. Old or new."

"Wonderful." Fumbling in her purse, she produced a notebook and flipped to the list of cursory interview questions she'd brought along in case her traitorous brain shut down, just like it was doing now. "So…you've been all over the world lately?"

"Yes. Mostly in the Middle East." His tone was somber. "I can only do so much there, unfortunately."

"It must make you miss the piddly crimes of Metropolis."

"It makes me miss this country, its freedom and hopefulness." He strolled to the nearby wall and looked out at the city. "Despite 9/11, we haven't lost our spirit or pride."

He added nothing more, but his unspoken sentiments hung in the air.

_I should have been there on that awful day_.

She struggled to find words to appease his regret. "Superman, it's…"

"It's what?" He stared at the shimmering skyline, his hands curling into fists on the balustrade. "I could have saved every one of those people. Instead, they—"

"Don't." She drifted toward him, everything soft in her drawn by the force of his pain. "You needed to address your own life after a long time of serving others. Every man has to make that journey to find himself. Every man has that right."

"I'm not every man."

There was no arguing that. She stopped and heaved a sigh. His granite expression as he turned his head to scan the traffic below said no further discussion on the topic was welcome.

"Have you…found a place to live?" A frivolous question, but meant to diffuse the heaviness in the air. When he glanced at her, she added sheepishly, "Or do you, you know, catnap on the clouds?"

He faced her fully, the wind fingering though his dark hair. "I don't really have a place at the moment."

"Do you want one?"

"Eventually."

"But you don't have plans to settle down anytime soon."

Vague humor softened his mouth. "I didn't say that."

"So you think about it? Settling down?" _God, why couldn't she let it go?_

Electricity instantly galvanized the air. Clasping his hands behind his back, he moved toward her with a measured intent that sent the blood rushing to her cheeks. "You mean settle down, as in buy a house?"

"Sure, right." Lois took a few steps back and bumped into the wall behind her. "Or whatever else that entails."

"You want to know if I'm looking for marriage, family, a home."

"It's a standard question."

"Your most standard, I'd have to say. You like the personal details, don't you, Miss Lane?"

"Strictly for the dreamers out there who drool over every publication with your picture on it." The retort felt thick on her tongue, her pulse jittery. Despite the miles of distance between them, he still could unravel her with that slow, subtle smile, the one that said he knew _exactly_ what was going on in her mind.

Right now she was thinking he was more magnificent than any creature she'd ever known, and that she was a horrible person for wanting him as much as the most desperate dreamer, while across the city, Richard waited for her. Richard trusted her. Richard loved her.

"Are you going to answer the question?" she demanded, heat crawling up her neck to burn her ears.

Superman stopped a mere foot away from her. "I think you know the answer." He gazed intently at her, his smile fading. "I came so close to having it one time, didn't I?"

"Yes," she said. "You did."

"Maybe it only comes around once."

"Maybe."

"But not for you." His blue eyes searched hers, all humor gone. "You have a beautiful family, Lois."

She swallowed. "Richard loves me. I'm so lucky."

"And Jason," he said, his voice gone husky. "Your amazing boy."

"_Your_ amazing boy. He's more like you every day."

They stood in silence, gazes locked, until somewhere below, a siren wailed its mournful alert and shattered the spell. Superman glanced over the wall beside her to check the rescue vehicle's location.

"Do you need to go?" she asked, pressing a hand to her stumbling heart.

"No. It's pulling into the hospital down the street. Let's continue."

But she'd already slipped the notebook and voice recorder back into her purse. Something about this night was too personal to document, and judging by the incredible tension strung between them, it could only get thicker with sentiments that were meant for no one to replay but them.

All she had to do now was tell him goodbye and walk away.

She stayed.

When he looked at her expectantly, she sauntered to the center of the observation deck, searching her muddled mind for a safer topic of discussion. "What do you really think happened to Lex Luthor?"

He followed her, playing the old game, his cape a fluid crimson sea behind him. "The authorities believe his helicopter went down off the coast of Nova Scotia."

"But you believe differently, don't you."

"No evidence exists that he survived, but I can feel him. I don't know how else to describe it."

She pivoted to face him. "So you'll be ready for him if he reappears?"

"_When_ he reappears, yes. I'll be ready."

Lois studied the grim line of his sensitive, expressive mouth. She didn't think he truly had the capacity to hate, but if he did, Luthor would be the sole, well-deserving recipient, and it had more to do with the threat he presented Jason than with any attempt he'd made on Superman's life.

"I know you watch over Jason," she said softly. "And me. Thank you for that."

Superman stopped in front of her, his silence saying everything prudence would not allow. God, the way he looked at her…it dissolved every ounce of armor around her heart. He'd always said so much more with his eyes—eyes that watched over the world, eyes that could locate a fire in a Mexico City ghetto, and at the same time, spot the desperate flight of a Congolese mother trying to whisk her children from rebel marauders. Eyes that took in the whole magnificent, frightening planet with reverence for all its inhabitants.

And now Lois was their focus, the improbable recipient of the tenderness darkening those blue eyes to some impossible midnight shade. He looked at her the way he always had, with the sad, sweet knowing that he wanted what he couldn't have. It hurt more than a million unforeseen goodbyes.

Fighting the sudden, un-heroic urge to weep, she tried to continue. "Tell me what a regular day entails for you. Is it different than before you left on your journey?"

"Everything's different than before I left on my journey," he said, moving closer.

"Different good, or different bad? Do you…" She trailed off and shook her head. "You know, I have no idea what to call you anymore. I know I'm the one who stuck you with it, but _Superman_ seems so…"

"Impersonal," he finished. "It is, after everything that's passed between us."

She nodded. "I've never known what to call you, frankly. It's ridiculous, considering that we've had—that we were…you know."

"That we made a child together."

The assertion was more than honest, it was _naked_. He stood so close now her nose nearly touched the 'S' insignia on his chest. Breathing in the clean, familiar scent of him, Lois squeezed her eyes closed. She didn't even know the name of the man who'd fathered her child. The realization, so indicative of their star-crossed relationship, clobbered her with its clarity. They weren't meant to be together. They would never be together. How many times did the universe have to beat her over the head until she _got it_?

She stepped back, smoothed her windblown ponytail and forced herself to breathe, though it wasn't easy. The physical awareness between them was potent enough to draw visible heat waves in the air. "So," she went on in a more determined voice, "One day when Jason asks me your name, your true name, what will I tell him?"

Pain darted across his features. "My parents called me Kal-El," he said.

_Kal-El. _It floated between them, plucked at some lost place in her memory. Maybe she'd known it once. Maybe she'd uttered it. Laughed it. Whispered it against his ear. Moaned it beneath his hungry mouth.

Her cheeks warmed and she cracked her knuckles, pacing a restless line before him. "And what name do you prefer to be known by, now that you're back?"

"Is this an interview question, or a Lois question?" When she slanted him a frown, he said, "You called me Kal-El. Before."

She swallowed. "So I did know your name."

"Yes."

"I knew more than that. I knew _you_."

"Yes." The night breeze undulated the folds of his cape as he closed the space between them as quickly as she created it. "And I knew you. And sometimes, Lois—when you look at me just right, I feel I still know you in every possible way."

"But you're wrong," she said hoarsely. "That night we shared was a forever ago, and Jason is the only thing that makes our past actions anything less than foolish." Anger surged anew in her chest, pushed up frustrated words she'd long harbored. "And thanks to your utter devotion to duty, Superman, he's the only proof I have that that night even existed. You wiped out everything from my mind, then left without a goodbye…and returned five years later from some kind of twisted time warp, where nothing had changed for _you—_"

"Lois—"

"You know, try as I might, I can't get any of those memories back. They were mine! You had no right."

"I had no choice."

A terse, regretful answer. She didn't want his regret. She wanted to hate him, but he wouldn't even let her do that, standing there so beautiful and strong with his penchant for truth.

It was too much.

"Damn you, Superman, Kal-El, whoever you are. Damn you, _damn you._ I can't do this again. I won't." She shouldered her purse and started toward the glass doors leading to the elevator. When she reached them, she stopped, her heart hammering a wild rhythm of grief and something else…something hot and shaky. Behind her, his presence seemed to swell, a mountain of solitude.

"Don't go." He spoke from the spot where she'd left him. He hadn't chased her, hadn't tried to keep her with more than the simple, quiet entreaty. He wouldn't. Maybe a part of him still loved her, but humanity was a most seductive mistress. Lois knew—had always known—she didn't stand a chance against his call to duty.

She was a fool, still a fool. _Always _a fool when it came to this man. No, this god. She'd worshipped him like he was one, and now she was paying the price.

Eyes closed in weariness, she sighed and turned to rest her back against the door, the chill of the glass soaking through her sweater. When she lifted her lashes, he was watching her across the observation deck, his features darkly solemn. Waiting for her to do something, to say something, to pick up the pieces of her wrecked dignity.

Lois couldn't stand knowing she'd made a fool of herself in front of him. She'd done it regularly in other situations—anything to get a story—but that didn't make it bearable now.

"Look," she began in a shaken voice, clutching her purse strap against her side, "I didn't come up here to drag out the past, and us through the mud with it. As I'm sure you can tell, this woman-scorned thing isn't working for me, but neither is the _lovesick fool_ in me who upstages my common sense every time we cross paths. We have to come to some kind of peace here. I have a job to do, and so do you—"

"And we have a son," he said.

Lois had to swallow before she could respond. "True. So if only for Jason's sake, this…tension between us has to be resolved, Superman."

"Kal-El." He started toward her and stopped. "If you don't mind."

She didn't mind. For God's sake, she couldn't even _think_. He was coming toward her again, and his intent was clear. He would touch her. And when he did, she would fall to pieces.

Pacing himself, he approached as though she were a wild, spooked creature, until he finally reached her and gazed down into her eyes, so towering in stature she had to tilt her head back to look at him. His broad shoulders blocked the city, the star-studded night beyond it—and the life she had so painstakingly pieced together in his absence, the life that no longer fit her.

She dragged in a breath, swayed, felt his warm fingers encircle her wrist to steady her.

"Kal-El," he prompted softly.

"Kal-El." The name sounded odd on her tongue, and yet strangely familiar. A personal endearment. The embodiment of each intimate detail they'd shared before this moment.

"Again," he murmured. "Please."

Lois licked her lips. "Kal-El."

His eyelids slid closed and he lowered his head to blindly search for her mouth, a gesture so innocent and yet so explosively erotic, she grasped his hard biceps to keep from wobbling to the ground.

And when she felt the brush of his breath on her lips, she whispered, "No."

He stilled and opened his eyes. Instantly Lois wanted to yank him back to her and devour his mouth, decency be _damned_.

Instead, she managed, "We have to fix this, Superman…Kal-El. This isn't the way."

"What do you propose?" he asked, that blue gaze sliding down to watch his own fingers as they surrounded her forearm and measured the slim circumference of her bones. He could crush her so easily with that hand. And just as easily with a caress as with brutal force, because his softness was deadlier than his iron strength. It unraveled everything inside her. No matter what kind of drivel she spouted at him about making peace and coming to terms with the present, he could still crush her to dust, and she would dissolve into the late summer night, tiny particles of broken heart floating on the wind.

"I can't think when you're touching me," she told him in desperation.

His mouth tugged into a smile both tender and repentant before he let her wrist slip from his fingers. Pivoting, he folded his arms across his chest and strolled a few feet away from her. "Ever since you told me about Jason, I've been trying to figure out how to keep my distance from you, how to watch him grow from afar. It's so painful," he added low. "I didn't know it would be this hard."

"Neither did I." She released a ragged breath. "But you have to understand—Richard doesn't know about…about any of this. And if he found out, he wouldn't—I mean, it's hard enough on him suspecting you and I have a past."

"He's asked you about it, then."

_It's kind of hard to miss, _she thought ruefully. "We've had a brief conversation about my friendship with you once or twice."

A huff of laughter escaped him as he reached the nearest wall and braced his palms against the concrete balustrade. "Our friendship. Is that what you called it?"

"I didn't call it anything. For God's sake—he accused me of still loving you!"

"And what did you say?" he asked, his back still turned.

"I…denied it."

He finally looked over his shoulder at her, and for a moment the pain and yearning between them was so thick, Lois thought she would suffocate. Then she shook her head. "If he asked me again—and no doubt he will—I would lie again. Because what guy in his right mind would want to follow in Superman's footsteps? I don't think Richard couldn't live with the truth. And I wouldn't ask him to."

His lips parted as though he would respond, but then he merely faced forward again, his profile limned by the city's pale night.

"What would you have me do differently, after everything we've been through?" She walked slowly to where he stood, her pulse leaping strange pirouettes. "After all the times we started and stopped, started and stopped…my God, you erased my memory to keep me at an emotional distance! You left the earth, and me to my own devices, with no explanation. And when you came back, you thought it would be easy to resume your life and duties without the past intervening. But feelings don't go away, Kal-El. It would make everything more convenient if they did, but they don't."

He was silent, but she could tell by the tension in his big body that every word rang through him.

"And you weren't counting on Jason," she added painfully. "No matter how we try to keep our distance from each other, our son will always be the tie that binds us."

"I'll never regret it," he said fiercely.

"Me neither."

His hands gripped the balustrade, his head bowed under a weight Lois would never fully understand. _The weight of the world_, she thought. The weight of her heart, and of their son's.

When she couldn't stand his anguish another second, she looked up at the giant bronze _Daily Planet_ sculpture rotating against the indigo sky. Beyond the city's glow, the heavens were a deep, velvet eternity. "Tell me something, Superman. Do you ever just fly for the sheer joy of it?"

It took him a moment to answer. "All the time," he said at last, casting the stars a reverent glance. "It's like breathing to me. And I liked taking you with me."

The low admittance lifted her stomach, inexplicable excitement on a roller coaster ride to nowhere. "I liked it, too. No…I _loved_ it. I loved sharing the heavens with you."

"We probably shouldn't do it again."

"I know." Blinking away the sudden blur of tears, Lois retrieved the voice recorder and set it on the wall as a reminder of their reason for being there. "Five years is a long time. Were you…up there…the whole time?"

"Not all of it," he said. "It was a fool's journey. Like I told you before, I found nothing. The exposure to kryptonite drained my strength. When I reached Earth again, I was out of commission for a long, long time."

She adjusted the recorder, envisioning him sleeping in the sun while that powerful body renewed its strength from the solar warmth. And felt the tiniest stirring of the reporter inside her, the one who had endless questions for this man she loved.

"Where did you go to recuperate when you came home to Earth? Where is home to you, Superman?" A painful question to pose, because she knew, without remembering, that on a night silken with romance, she had stood in his home, in his most intimate space. She had slept in his bed, in his arms. She had known all his secrets once upon a time.

Reaching out, he turned off the recorder and ducked his head to meet her eyes. "I used to have a home. I took you there, Lois. I showed you everything—you knew everything."

The tears finally won the battle and welled on her lashes, choked any cursory reply she would have made. And when the silence stretched out between them, he gently removed the purse from her shoulder, laid it aside, and cupped her face in his hands. "The memory of that night, of _you_, keeps me alive."

"But I can't share that memory with you. It's like it never happened for me," she whispered.

"Jason happened." His thumbs stroked the soft skin of her cheeks, his eyes reading her features, back and forth, as though the key to the universe was written on her face.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she said, "Does this place still exist?"

"It's a shell, but yes. It still stands. I tried to live there again, but it's not the same. And despite what the world sees of me, _I'm_ not the same."

Her fingers crept up to cover his. "You've moved on, and so have I. Don't ask me how," she added with a choked laugh. "But I did it because I had to, and I'm okay."

"I want you to be happy," he said softly.

"I manage it sometimes, despite losing you. And now I know that even if my life reverted back to the way it was before you left, I'd still never have...I'd never have what I truly want. And Jason—" She drew a shuddering breath, closing her eyes rather than read the sadness in his expression another second. "One day I'll tell him the truth, and maybe like me, he won't understand why the world got between him and what was rightfully his. You."

The warm, lingering press of his lips against her forehead was his only reply. And oh, to be touched by him again, even in this chaste way...she could only stand there and breathe him in, revel in the unbearable tenderness of him, and know it was as forbidden as anything lovers could do. For a long time they stood like that, leaning into each other, tearing aside what fragile healing had taken place in the weeks since his return, yet unable to stop the rending.

When he eased back, Lois opened her eyes, her face upturned while he ran his thumbs beneath her tear-spiked lashes. Then, as though he couldn't help himself, he bent to brush a soft kiss on her left cheek, then the right, a bid for comfort, a bid for _more_.

All she had to do was turn her mouth into his.

Suddenly there was no right or wrong. There was only the two of them and the stars, and when she shifted just slightly and their mouths brushed…caught…clung…everything broken in Lois's world dispersed and rematerialized into whole joy.

The tenderness of the moment lasted only as long as the first startling realization that they had done the unthinkable. Then Superman's fingers slid beneath her ponytail, dislodged it, and sank into the fall of her hair, cradling her head as he opened his mouth over hers.

And five unrequited years exploded.

He set fire to her senses, his desperation even more potent than her own as he drew back just long enough to search her face for permission to proceed, and finding it, reclaimed her lips, this time with ravenous intent. His mouth devoured hers, hard and tender, soft and searching, then settling to tease, taste and nuzzle, until she thought she would die from the pleasure of it. A worldly kiss it was, born of sheer desire too long denied. His every muscle vibrated with it. She was the only woman he'd ever kissed, and he knew how to touch her, how to seduce her, as though he'd been born for that alone.

In response her fingers slid up his arms to dig into the hard muscles of his shoulders, clinging as though she would hold him forever in that moment of suspended existence, her shivering body straining closer to the galvanized heat of him, reaching for the impossible.

In the whole wide universe, nothing was more stunning than his kiss. Lois would remember it later, the sheer beauty of it, the taste of his lips and the graze of his tongue, the surge of electricity that lit her every nerve as their ardor mounted and he ran avid, hungry hands down her spine to mold her against him. She would remember, and it would lift her to lofty places where the body couldn't follow.

She wasn't immediately aware when her feet left the ground and the rooftop fell away, the force of his passion lifting them up, up, until she tore her lips from his, saw the street far below them and threw herself against him, terrified. Electrified. Alive. He tightened the arm he'd curled around her waist, speaking soft reassurances against her temple, his cheek resting on her hair, his body a shield of warmth and safety as they floated in blissful nothingness.

She could have stayed there forever, gently spinning on air with him in the dance they'd begun years ago. But the inevitable time came to return to Earth or be swept away on mindless passion, and Superman, the man of steel and righteousness, chose the road closer to those damnedable heavens from whence he'd come.

"Lois," he murmured against her ear. One word, filled with every regret and desire they shared. One word to wake them.

She couldn't meet his eyes. Burying her face in the crook of his neck, she whispered, "We're doomed to this."

He didn't argue. It only took a moment to descend, then he was setting her gingerly on the observation deck and his warm hands slid from her wrists, leaving phantom heat behind. When he backed away, the cool night seeped through the thin fabric of her blouse, but it was the renewed knowledge that no place existed for them in this life that made Lois shiver to her bones.

She hugged herself and glanced up to find him balanced on the nearest wall, poised to soar, the sharp planes of his face hidden in shadow as he watched her.

"I'm so sorry," she said, numb.

"Don't apologize."

"I can't see you anymore. I can't fly with you, or think about you, or have you in my life."

"I know," he replied, the wind nearly snatching away the quiet response.

"I'll miss you." An unexpected sob surged in her chest and broke free. "I have for such a long time already. I miss you every day. You must know that."

Turning toward the world that had reclaimed him, he lifted his face to the sky and stood frozen for an instant, haloed by the city's glow, a being of everything light and good in the universe. Then, without looking at her, he said, "I love you, Lois."

And just like that, he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Out of the Mouths of Babes

The man in the plaid shirt and jeans swung the axe with effortless precision, a single blow for each log he set on the stump. Other than his obvious strength, there was nothing about him that marked him an extraordinary figure; no hint of the deified superhero hiding beneath the farm-boy exterior, except for a vague familiarity in the wide breadth of his shoulders, a certain nobility in the angle of his jaw, and that single, rebellious black curl that fell over his forehead as he worked.

If Lois hadn't driven past the mailbox that proclaimed this humble homestead "Kent Farm," she might not have known it was him at all—other than the intuitive recognition a woman possesses of the man she loves, and the ensuing jolt of longing the sight of him sent through her.

His super powers were on hold, she thought, watching him from the shadow of the old barn. He appeared totally absorbed in the rhythmic swing of his task—hadn't heard her car tires on the gravel driveway in front of the house, nor the crunch of her high-heeled boots as she picked her way around the side of the barn. He hadn't yet seen her shivering in the building's shadow, and she was content for the moment to just blend with the dusk and observe him being Every Man, while she waited for the wild rumba of her pulse to settle.

While there was little of the superhero about him, the fumbling Clark Kent details were just as conspicuously absent as he leaned to toss aside the split logs into a pile. He moved with supreme grace, a big, red-blooded, healthy male. All man.

_Hers_.

How could she have ever missed such a simple truth, that Clark Kent and Superman were one and the same? How could she have wasted so much time, hours thrown away, working beside him every day without truly listening to him, without talking to him, without studying every detail of his beautiful, sensitive face, with only a single pair of thick-rimmed glasses keeping her from his biggest secret?

As though she'd spoken aloud, his dark head snapped up and he stared at her, the axe frozen in mid-swing. Then, in disbelief, "_Lois_?"

Trepidation clenched her chest as she stepped into the sunset's golden spill. Why should she be nervous, for Christ's sake? _He_ was the one who had all the explaining to do! Still, words faltered on her lips. What could she say to sum up the incredible emotions pouring through her? Half of her wanted to run to him, touch him, examine every inch of him with avid eyes and hungry hands. The other half of her wanted to throttle him for keeping the truth from her. A lie of omission was still a lie, damn it—and from the savior of the modern world, no less, who claimed to _never_ lie.

Lois felt like a woman scorned, and yet each fresh wave of ire dissolved to dust as quickly as it came, exhilaration sweeping the ashes away as she cautiously approached him.

He set aside the axe, drew his glasses from his shirt pocket and slipped them over his eyes. Instantly those broad shoulders hunched and the pure essence of Clark—confusion, shyness, uncertainty—slid over him like a mantle. "Lois, what are you doing here? I mean, how did you know where I was? And why—"

"Please, Clark, just…don't."

When he started to argue, she lifted a trembling hand to silence him. "It's not going to work anymore, okay? I _know_. I know who you are."

He adjusted his glasses, a nervous, familiar gesture, and cast her a skewed look through their lenses. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean." She stopped a foot away from him, her pulse roaring in her ears. "—Superman."

Color seeped into his cheeks. "What? Oh, come on, Lois. That's…that's just ridiculous. You think _I'm_…?"

The Lois of old might have been fooled by his chiding tone. But she was someone else now, emboldened by love and desperation, and this new woman reached up and drew the glasses from his face again, folded them and slid them back into his pocket. "I've been so very, very blind," she whispered.

For a long moment he didn't speak, searching her face as he read her thoughts, weighed his ammunition…and finally surrendered.

She knew she'd won when his spine straightened and he closed his eyes. Just like that, Clark was gone, and in his place stood the superhero even a simple shirt and jeans couldn't disguise.

When he looked at her again, the unearthly blue of his gaze startled her anew. "I wouldn't call you blind," he said in the familiar low tone that so often swept her dreams. "Distracted, maybe, but never blind. Not you."

"Then how could I be so fooled by a simple pair of glasses?" She offered him a rueful smile, her hands clenched at her sides to keep from reaching out to him and destroying what little composure she had left. "How in God's name could I not have known, working beside you all this time, day in and day out?"

_How could I not know the man I love?_

"I figured you would connect the dots eventually, and I was right." With a single step he closed the scant space between them and stared down at her in such earnest, a surge of shyness warmed her face. "Not much gets by you, Lois Lane."

"This sure as hell did, for five long years. And as much as I'd like to take credit now, I didn't figure it out on my own."

"Oh?"

"Jason knew," she said softly.

Yesterday she'd taken Jason with her to the office so she could finish up some last-minute tasks before the weekend. While she worked, he'd wandered around Clark's desk, looking at everything with such concentration that Lois had figured maybe he missed her co-worker. Clark was one of the few people at the office who gave her son the time of day.

When Jason asked where Clark was, she'd told him he was on vacation.

That was when Jason said, "Mom, how come Mr. Clark isn't Superman all the time?"

Lois, only half-listening as she checked her corporate email, had mumbled some cursory response, a knee-jerk reply to a five-year-old's constant questions.

"He doesn't wear his cape to work," Jason had added, circling Clark's desk with slow, measured footsteps as his brown gaze took in every tidy, non-descript detail. "He has those dumb glasses instead. How come? And why does he even work here? Does he get tired of being Superman?"

Lois, turning off the computer, lifted her head to look at her son, who gazed back at her with a familiar, genetic steadiness that tore right through her.

_How come Mr. Clark isn't Superman all the time?_

And like a bucket of cold fresh water dumped over the unconscious, she had jolted awake from a five-year miasma of sheer cluelessness.

"From the moment he met you, he knew," she told Clark now, her stomach leaping at the memory. "And then yesterday, _I_ knew."

Wry humor curved his mouth as he took in her chagrin. "Out of the mouths of babes. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Children don't wear the blinders that adults do."

"But I'm a reporter!" She rubbed her hands over her flushed, burning face in a sudden fit of consternation. "I'm not supposed to wear blinders. How could I have missed it? The details are all there—you have the same face, the same build. How could I not have seen it?" _I used to know you! s_he wanted to cry_. Every detail and nuance of your body…every expression…every move…you were my lover—_

"Lois," he said gently. "All I had to do was put on the glasses and I just disappeared for you."

"That's not true," she managed, but he shook his head.

"You looked right through me. Every single day for four years I was no one, just a guy you worked with and hardly made eye contact with. And since I've come back, it's even worse."

Lois could read it in his face—he thought her inability to see the truth was because of Richard, because of the pseudo-life of domesticity she'd built like a stone fortress to hide her broken heart. But God, if she'd been treating Clark like a non-entity, it was only because lately she'd been too busy falling back in love with the other half of him.

The sudden, hysterical urge to laugh melded with the tears clogging her throat. "There have been times I suspected the link between you and Superman, though. At least give me that much. But you're always so convincing in your Clark-ness that I end up doubting myself, feeling silly for thinking— " She stopped and squinted at him. "I knew the truth once, didn't I? Before you left. _I knew_!"

It wasn't a reclaimed memory surging through her now, but a fleeting link of minds with the man she loved—a quicksilver glimpse of their past. She had known, once upon a time, that Clark and Superman were the same, but just like every other precious fragment of their love, the knowledge was lost when he'd purged her memory.

If ever there was a time to hate him, now was it.

He smiled a little and reached out to brush a windblown strand of hair away from her face, his fingers lingering on the high curve of her cheek, and for an instant desire fogged her indignation. Then she swatted away his caress.

"Don't try to distract me. I lost the knowledge of who you were when you cleared out my memory. Right?"

He sighed, the chilled breeze ruffling his dark hair. "You make it sound so simple, Lois. But—"

"How did I find out…before?"

"It's a long story."

She slanted him a stern look. "I have all the time in the world, damn you, and every right to know the details! God, Clark…" She grasped the front of his shirt, battered by frustration, confusion, and that odd, disparate joy that had vibrated along every nerve since the moment she'd realized who he was. "I don't know how you've hidden your identity all this time, how you've held in your feelings, knowing who Jason is to you…knowing I—that I…" She trailed off, hyper-aware of the way his lashes lifted and lowered as his gaze took in every detail of her face. He was studying her inside and out, just like Superman did. Just like _Clark _always had. X-ray vision that could read straight through to her soul.

"You're right about one thing," she went on, her voice quavering. "I didn't see who you truly were when you put on those glasses, or when you put on the cape...and to tell you the truth, I still don't know who I'm looking at." Her fingers crept up to trace the hard line of his jaw, searching, disbelieving. "So who am I touching? Who are you, damn it? Standing here right now in your farm-boy clothes, looking like Clark and yet not at all like him—seeming so like Superman, and yet much too human at the same time—who _are_ you?"

The question hung in the silence, challenging, angry, passionate.

_Who are you?_

He grasped her hand and drew it from his jaw, and for a moment she thought he might set her away from him, regain the safe distance through which she'd so audaciously barreled. But then he brought her palm to his lips, and for a hushed, sacred moment his dark lashes swept closed, and there was no answer, only the mournful sigh of the wind across the expansive fields of corn.

No answer, because maybe none existed.

"Tell me what to do," he spoke at last, cupping her hand against his cheek, where she felt the all-too-human rasp of a day's growth of beard, and heard the regret beneath his husky words.

_Well._ Touching her like this, with such devastating tenderness, was a hell of a good start.

Like a luna moth drawn to the moon, she swayed into him, unable to resist the seduction of his remorse. "Just…talk to me, Clark. Kal-El. Tell me everything I once knew. And then tell me everything I've never known."

"I will," he murmured, pressing a reverent kiss on her knuckles. "Everything. But not here."

Pulse thrumming anew, Lois nodded. "Then where?"

He glanced around the darkened yard, then back at her, his gaze preternaturally iridescent in the failing light. "It's getting late. How long can you stay?"

"My flight leaves tomorrow afternoon at two." A wave of sick realization assailed her suddenly, the self-righteousness that had compelled her to track him down leaving her adrift in a sea of humiliation. She hadn't thought anything through—the simple stuff like bringing a coat to ward off the chilly midwestern night, or even packing a toothbrush. And where was she going to stay tonight? She couldn't exactly invite herself into his home.

She was an eternal damned fool in this man's presence, but what could she do when every sane thought flew out of her head with just a glimpse of his clear blue eyes? She loved him. She would never love anyone else, would never even _try_ to again, for there would be nothing left of her to give after this.

As though sensing her troubled thoughts, he slipped an arm around her shoulders and turned her toward the farmhouse. "You're shivering. Come inside and I'll make us a cup of coffee. We'll start there, okay?"

"Okay," Lois said without hesitation, wholeheartedly embracing the realization that she'd just committed to so much more than coffee and truth this night, and before the sun rose again over the Kansas plains, her heart might lay in ruin.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Disclaimer: I own none of the characters in this story, nor the settings or particulars. This was written purely for entertainment.

Warning: This chapter contains a love scene, adult language and situations, and thus has been given an 'M' rating. Please don't read it if you take offense at the consummation of this relationship. While not explicit, it is what it is: suitable for mature readers who are seeking a solid romance. Feedback is cherished and appreciated!

Chapter Three

Take Back the Night

The farmhouse's interior was warmly cluttered with a mish-mash of plaid and gingham, worn but comfortable furnishings and trappings of a sweet and simple past. While Clark brewed a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen, Lois wandered around the family room, examining myriad photographs of a beautiful dark-haired boy flanked by a handsome, middle-aged man and woman.

"Where are your parents?" she called out, picking up a small brass frame containing a picture of a teenaged Clark in royal blue cap and gown.

He reappeared in the kitchen doorway. "My father passed away a few years ago."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't remember Clark—er, you—ever saying anything about that."

"I probably never mentioned it. I—Clark, that is, doesn't let people in anymore than he has to."

"I noticed that." Too quick a response, too defensive. They both knew she had never given Clark Kent much thought outside of office hours, and to her dying day, she would regret it. Now, looking at his broad shoulders, at his rich dark hair and piercing blue eyes, Lois was clobbered with disbelief all over again that she hadn't made the connection without Jason's unsullied perception. And there was so very much more she craved to know.

"Tell me about your dad."

Clark's smile came and went, faded by fleeting sadness. "He was a great guy. A good dad. I couldn't have asked for a better friend. He died too soon."

"I'm so sorry," she said softly, returning the photo to the console where she'd found it before following him into the kitchen. "And your mom?"

"She's doing just fine." He paused long enough to run the pot under the faucet, then added, "She's in Las Vegas."

"Las Vegas?" Lois's gaze followed the movements of his hands as he spooned coffee into the machine. "I thought she lived here."

"She does. She's only gone for the week. She…" He cleared his throat and closed the machine lid. "She's on vacation with her, uh, date."

A smile crept to Lois's lips as she read a son's reproof on his face. "She has a boyfriend, huh? Good for her."

"Ben's a nice guy. A long-time friend. He's not my dad, but he's good to her. And if she's happy—" He glanced up and met her eyes. "Then I'm happy."

They gazed at each other for a lingering beat before he went back to his task, grabbing milk from the refrigerator and a box of sugar packets from the pantry. "Are you hungry?"

She couldn't have presented a cracker crumb to her still-quivering stomach if it was the last morsel on earth. "I'm fine, thanks."

"You look a little tired."

_Great_. Just what a girl loved to hear.

"Nothing a quick smoke wouldn't fix," she muttered, smoothing her windblown hair.

Humor tugged at his mouth. "Still haven't beaten that mean little habit, huh?"

"For your information, I bought my first pack in five years when you flew back into town with no warning." Her chin crept up a notch. "Something about you brings back all my old weaknesses."

"Same here," he said low, but when her eyes flew to his, he was focused on pouring coffee into the mugs.

"We have a lot to talk about, Kal-El."

He gave a sober nod. "I know a good place. Follow me."

While she found a seat on the plaid sofa, he added logs to the fireplace until the radiant warmth banished the family room's vague chill.

Then, with steaming cups of coffee in hand, they sat facing each other, close, not close enough.

For once, Lois didn't do all the talking. The easy, low rumble of his voice lulled her into an enchanted silence where cynicism and witty rejoinders didn't exist, while his words—his truths—slipped around her heart and bound it impossibly closer to his. If she thought herself in love before, she was hopeless now.

He told her details that perhaps she'd once known but were lost to her now, and like a thirsty nomad emerging from a desert wasteland, she drank it all in: his alien origins, his human childhood, the years he spent in the Fortress of Solitude transforming into Superman, then splitting his identity between the super hero and the unremarkable, every-day-Joe reporter, until he had perfected the division to even the most discerning eye.

While the firelight cast a flickering chiaroscuro on his face, he told her all of it, and even as she listened, she found herself studying the intense blue eyes that saw too much of the world, the straight, regal nose, the expressive mouth whose vulnerability was so contradicted by the stubborn chin and jaw…and thought she'd never known a finer man.

She only stirred from her raptness when he reached the part about wiping clean her memory.

"You didn't have to do that," she said, straightening her spine when she realized they'd gradually leaned toward each other, victims to the gravitational pull of attraction.

"I did have to do that," he countered solemnly.

"I would have survived."

"You were crying like you wouldn't."

"Well." She sighed and glanced unseeingly at the crackling flames. "I don't remember crying over you even once until you flew off for five years, so I guess those memories you took from me are your burden now."

Immediately she wanted to take it back. It was a stupid, petty thing to say, when the truth was he carried the burden of the whole world alone, and their past relationship was hardly a blip on the screen.

Except for Jason, of course.

Clark looked at her for a long moment, his intelligent eyes obviously missing nothing. Then he drained his mug and stretched to set it on the coffee table. "Want to know why I left Metropolis on Thursday to spend the week in Kansas?"

Lois sighed. "Tell me."

"You broke up with Richard."

She stilled. "Who told you?"

"The entire office, pretty much."

Of course. The grapevine wrapped its gnarled fingers around every desk in that damned office.

"I did notice you'd left," she said, "but I didn't wonder why until Jason asked where you were. I told him you'd gone on vacation—I didn't know there was a connection."

"There was a connection," he said, dry humor edging his words. "I didn't think I could be in the same office with you knowing...thinking, anyway…that I was responsible for your broken engagement."

She shot him a fierce look. "Want to really know what happened to my engagement?"

"Do I have a choice?" he murmured, but she ignored it and barreled on.

"You kissed me on _The Daily Planet_ rooftop the other night. I was so…confused, and hurt…and determined to put you behind me. And maybe I could have, if you hadn't touched me."

"Lois," he said, rubbing a hand across his brow, but she wasn't finished.

"When I got home after our little _tête-à-tête_, Richard was up waiting for me. He asked me what had kept me so late, and I lied so easily, I even impressed myself. And I realized then that he deserves more than I have to offer. Which is funny, really, considering I gave him everything. Except my heart."

"That _is_ everything," Clark said quietly.

"Unfortunately someone else has it, whether I like it or not." Despite her ire, she stole a glance at him through her lashes. He was watching her with an intensity that sent a frisson of excitement down her spine. "Anyway, tuck away your remorse, Superman. I'm the guilty party, and everyone knows it. Richard didn't seem surprised when I gave him back the ring. I guess I'm pretty obvious when it comes to you."

He didn't respond, just shifted to stare into the fire, his profile troubled.

"I did the right thing," she added, softening her tone. "He so deserves to be happy. I think eventually he and I will get to a place where we can be friends again. At least for Jason's sake."

The mention of Jason brought his attention back to her face. "Does he know yet, Lois?"

She shook her head. "No. It would shatter him. I don't know when I'll tell him. Eventually he'll probably figure it out, if Jason continues to…" She faltered at the memory of her five-year-old shoving a grand piano into Lex Luthor's henchman hard enough to splatter him all over the yacht's map room. "He's your son in more ways than one, Kal-El."

"I know." He held her gaze, then looked away again. Silence drifted between them, broken only by the crackle of the flames.

"I'm sorry I stormed all the way out here to confront you," she said after a while, her shoulders curved beneath the weight of exhaustion and regret. "I should have waited and talked to you after you came back to Metropolis. You know..." she waved a hand. "Done something more… prudent."

"'Prudent' isn't a word I'd use where you're concerned," he said, flashing her an arid glance. "I would expect nothing less of you, Miss Lane."

She chuckled and wearily rubbed the back of her neck. "It's a bad habit, I know, but I always go tearing after what I want."

The declaration was meant to be flippant, but her choice of words was unfortunate and truth-baring. _I always go tearing after what I want._

_Christ on a cracker_.

He didn't reply, but his all-seeing gaze dropped to her lips and lingered until she burned from the inside out. Then he gave a languid, shuddering stretch, the kind that encompasses every vital part of a man's body and draws a woman's attention like metal to a magnet.

"It's getting late," he said, rising to his feet and extending his hand to her. "Now that we've cleared the air, are you ready for bed?"

* * *

Lois had no idea what to expect as she followed him up the creaking staircase and down a narrow corridor. Her hyper imagination was working overtime, mental cogs spinning with reckless abandon, sending blood pumping to every inappropriate part of her anatomy. _God_, she wanted him. _God_, she was terrified of what he'd do next because he knew she wanted him, and in all likelihood, he wanted her too. His words from the other night_—"I love you, Lois"—_had played and replayed like a broken record in her mind for days.

And Superman never lied.

Stopping at the end of the hall, he pushed open a door. "Bathroom," he explained. Then, two steps to the right, "Guest room."

Ridiculous, asinine, complete-and-total dismay bolted through her. What had she expected? He was Superman, for crying out loud! The flannel shirt and faded jeans and work boots didn't change that fact. Truth, justice, and the American way, all the way. No one said anything about romance, seduction and every desired fulfilled. Once upon a time, they'd both been naïve enough to waver at the edge, but it hadn't worked. Now they—especially _he_—had grown wiser. And looked better than ever from every angle, she thought as she paused behind him and noted the way his jeans, faded in all the right places, hugged his muscular backside.

Entering the room ahead of her, Clark turned on a bedside lamp with a bell-shaped shade, illuminating a tidy, if somewhat sterile, bedroom. He opened the top drawer of a nearby bureau and produced a toothbrush still sealed in its package. "One of those things you came without," he said, laying it on the night table. "There's toothpaste in the bathroom medicine cabinet, fresh soap and towels under the sink." He paused, and to her consternation, reached out to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "Anything else you need? I want you to be comfortable."

She wanted to snort. 'Comfortable' wasn't a word in her vocabulary when it came to him. _Try 'Tortured' or 'Sexually-Frustrated.'_

"Maybe something to sleep in," she said, beyond sheepish. "Got an old tee-shirt I can borrow?"

He motioned for her to wait and disappeared down the hall. When she peeked around the doorframe, she saw the light come on in the room farthest from hers. His footsteps thudded on the wood floors as he moved about, and she waited, noting how loud the ticking sounded from the alarm clock on her nightstand, and how her pulse raced madly ahead of its metronome beat.

When he returned with shirt in hand, she was sitting on the side of the bed. "It's a 2X," he said. "I don't really have anything to fit you."

She took it from him and held it up for inspection. _University of Iowa. _Had he gone to college there? She'd never thought to ask him before. She'd never much thought to ask Clark anything about his past.

"Perfect," she said, her voice husky. "Thank you. For everything."

"I'm glad you're here." He hesitated at the threshold to give her a long, searching look. Then he drew a breath and stepped into the hall. "There's only one shower, but you take the bathroom first. I need to feed the dog and do some stuff before I can turn in."

Lois gave him a helpless look. He was being so brisk, so efficient, so polite. It broke her heart. She wanted him dark and hungry and out of control, the way he'd been on the roof of _The Daily Planet_ mere days ago.

_We're doomed to this, _she'd told him then, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe he'd come to his senses. And part of her silently thanked him, because _someone_ had to stop the madness.

"Let me know if you need anything," he added. "My room's just down the hall."

She swallowed against the emotion constricting her throat and forced a smile. "Okay. Goodnight, Clark."

"'Night, Lois."

* * *

A hot shower washed away the day's stress, and Lois lingered beneath the gentle pummel of the water, reveling in the delicious, familiar scent of the soap as she slid the bar over her skin. She'd smelled it on him many times, the well-scrubbed fragrance mixed with a singular sweetness that he alone exuded. It hadn't occurred to her that Superman had to buy soap, or that he lived somewhere with regular, every-man fixtures. In some ways, she'd been as negligent about the little things in his world as she had with Clark.

After toweling off, she slipped the soft tee-shirt over her head and drew it down her body. It nearly reached her knees, so she eschewed panties, handwashed them, and hung them in an inconspicuous place to dry.

She found a plastic hairbrush in the medicine cabinet, along with the toothpaste, and knew it belonged to him. Drawing it through her damp hair, she felt a little depraved at the pleasure she experienced from such an intimate thing as sharing his brush. The wayward girl in her slid into a silly fantasy of life as Superman's wife—the simple minutiae of marriage, like sharing a hairbrush, a bar of soap, a tube of toothpaste. Then sliding, clean and warm, between soft, sun-dried sheets and into his waiting arms.

She'd want for nothing ever again.

The night crept by with excruciating slowness. Long after she climbed into her cold bed, she lay awake, listening to the thud of his boots on the downstairs floor. Something in her knew he was waiting for her to fall asleep before he came up, and probably he was smart to do so. What he didn't understand, though, was that she would never be able to sleep this night.

And when at last he climbed the stairs, moved gingerly past her bedroom door and closed himself into the bathroom, Lois came fully alert, every muscle in her body electrified.

It was a decidedly sensuous thing, she discovered, to lie awake and listen to the sound of a man showering. First the thump of boots discarded, then the rustle of clothing removed, the drumming spray of the showerhead, the metallic slide of curtain rings on the rod.

She flung an arm over her eyes and followed every move he made in her mind, until her heart threatened to fling itself from her chest, until heat suffused her body and she kicked aside her covers in a fit of frustration…until the bathroom door squeaked open again and his bare feet thudded down the hall to his room.

She heard another sound—the scrabble of a dog's claws, the low murmur of his voice as he talked to the animal. She'd noted the dog hanging around the barn when she first arrived, a gentle-eyed yellow Lab whose gaze followed every move his master made.

The click of the door ended her reverie, but Lois was too far gone. She waited, her gaze glued to the alarm clock's green glow, watching the crawl of the second hand while audacity born of desperation grew, and grew, and grew.

Maybe an hour had passed, or maybe mere minutes, when she got up, cracked open her door, and peered down the hall. His lamp was still on; it cast a sliver of golden light beneath the door and across the worn runner.

It was now or never.

She managed to traverse the distance from her room to his in silence, but when she reached his door, a soft, snuffling _woof_ from the dog inside heralded her presence.

_Criminy_.

Tapping softly, she winced at the way the sound shattered the viscous quiet. She felt like an intruder, an ungainly bovine in a crystalline fortress. _Turn your fool self around and go back to bed._

Before she could move, Clark opened the door.

"Hi," she said, when she'd recovered from the sight of him standing there in nothing but pajama bottoms, his dark hair mussed, his fair skin glowing in the dim light of the bedside lamp behind him.

He opened the door wider and stepped back in silent invitation. Shivering, she moved into the room.

It was a child's small dormer room, modest, with faded cowboy wallpaper and a spindle-post twin bed whose covers were disturbed, as though Clark had climbed from beneath them to answer her knock. The yellow Labrador watched Lois from the foot of the mattress with a sleepy, bleary gaze that made her feel guilty for intruding.

"That's Shelby," Clark said, following the direction of her stare. "She's an institution around here."

Shelby, who had lifted her head to study Lois, laid her snout on her paws again and sighed.

"This is quite a room," Lois said with a trembling smile.

He released a huff of laughter. "I always figured Mom would turn it into a sewing room when I moved out. It must be the cowboy wallpaper that scares her away."

Books and various trophies filled the simple wooden shelves mounted to the wall beside the door; on the antique maple dresser a clutter of photographs sat in haphazard arrangement. Lois hugged herself and studied them from where she stood, feeling like an invader as she took in the snapshots of his childhood and memories. Football buddies, various sports teams…

Girlfriends.

Why that surprised her, she didn't know.

She startled when a soft afghan settled around her shoulders.

"You're cold," he said.

Lois clutched it around her and turned to face him, ready with the poetic proclamations she'd invented when tossing and turning in the guestroom. What came out instead was, "I want to know what it was like."

His dark brows lowered. "What what was like?"

_Oh, hell. Can't I even get this right? _

She made a helpless gesture beneath the afghan. "The night we slept together. I want to know what it…what it was like."

There. The truth was out in all its bald, mortifying glory. And it didn't go away. In fact, the brash words hung between them like a noisy third party…and Clark did nothing to ease her agony. He regarded her with an unreadable expression, the only hint of emotion in the slight hitch of his breathing.

Heat crawled up her neck to her ears, flooded her cheeks. She was such a dolt, barging into his life like this, standing here in his personal space where she wasn't invited and didn't belong—

"It was incredible," he said, the words so soft, she wasn't sure he'd uttered them.

She swallowed hard, her pulse trip-hammering in her veins. "You should have left me with that one memory, you know. Just that one."

"I know." He stepped closer, the floorboards protesting under his weight. "I make a lot of mistakes when it comes to you." His wording indicated he saw no end to the mistake-making anytime in the near future, either, something that both frustrated her and filled her with inexplicable relief.

"You could make it up to me," she said lightly, shivering beneath the blanket from sheer fear of rejection.

She thought he might smile again, but the sparkle of humor so often present in his blue eyes when he regarded her was gone, replaced by something darker, richer.

Intent.

The shivering spread to her knees, which threatened to fold beneath her. "I'm making a fool of myself here, aren't I."

"No," he said with a slow shake of his head. "Not at all."

God, how she loved him.

"Kal-El," she whispered, letting the afghan slide from her shoulders and down to her feet, "You could give me back that one memory. Give me back the night."

He stood staring down into her eyes so long, and the anticipation was so painful, Lois thought she would dissolve, body and soul, and drift away like dust before he delivered an answer.

At last—mercifully—he moved, murmured a command to the dog that brought Shelby from her warm place at the foot of the bed and out into the hall, where she collapsed with an old-dog groan on the carpet runner. Then he quietly closed the door, leaned his back against it, and fixed his eyes on Lois. "Come here."

Her feet moved of their own accord, tiny steps that sent bolts of galvanized awareness through her as she drew nearer to the source of all her pleasure and pain. When she stopped, close enough to touch him but half-frozen with trepidation, he said, "That night, Lois…it started like this."

He slid an arm around her waist and drew her gently into him as though she would balk, startle and run. Instead she came forward without reservation, never more aware of the unearthly fever and strength of his body, or of his power, over the world, over _her_. But it wasn't Superman holding her as he dipped his head and brushed his lips over hers, once, twice, in tender exploration. This man was no Clark Kent, no superhero, no alien.

He was _hers_.

Breathless, she slid her hands around his waist, reveling in the unbearable intimacy of touching his sleek, bare skin, marveling at the finely honed sinew beneath it, before letting her hands roam the naked expanse of his back. "And…" She had to swallow to continue. "And then…?"

"Something like this." He cradled her head in his hands and opened his lips over hers, the hunger of his kiss stealing her breath and replacing the need for oxygen with sheer desire. In blind response she caught his jaw between her palms, guiding it as he took her mouth again and again in that same fervent, hungry way, until utter weakness forced her arms around his neck and his caress slid beneath the oversized tee-shirt, burning a path from her backside to her shoulder blades and back again.

"Oh," he whispered into her mouth. "You're naked under this."

"I told you I came here with nothing useful," she mumbled, and he said, "Good," before he caught her lips again.

Lois shivered violently, but it wasn't the chill of the old farmhouse that sent waves of goose bumps over her skin. The heat of his body burned her, yet she couldn't get close enough. The wild drum of his heartbeat matched her own, yet he seemed so sure in his actions, so deliberate, so skilled.

They were old lovers, yet poignantly new.

After a moment he grasped the hem of her shirt and skimmed it up and off, leaving her as bare as her heart. But this was no place for shyness or modesty, this humble, long-ago child's room with the narrow twin bed awaiting them. This was an enchanted sanctuary meant for the realization of dreams and desires.

"And then?" she managed.

Jaws clenched, he caught her hand and brought it to the muscled plain of his chest, let her feel the drumbeat of his heart, then led her palm down his torso to his hard, flat stomach, where her fingertips brushed the strings of his pajama bottoms.

Somewhere between tugging those strings loose and sliding the pants down his strong legs with deliberate, determined hands, she stopped trembling, and the golden assurance of a woman well-loved washed over her as he stepped free of the bottoms and drew her against him again, skin to naked skin.

Questions about tomorrow fell away as easily as clothing, inhibitions, uncertainty. Neither spoke again except to whisper the breathless accolades of lovers, and when he drew her to the bed and led her down into its easy yield, nothing existed for Lois except each searing moment that rose like ocean waves and washed over them: each touch, each shiver and sigh, each fantasy brought to fruition.

He wasn't a practiced lover, but the rawness of his desire held its own kind of poetry, and Lois found the innate innocence of him more arousing than any silver-tongued words or practiced caresses. He knew instinctively, and perhaps from memory, how to touch her so that she came apart in his reverent hands, and when at last he followed, she slid her fingers into his thick hair and held his face in the curve of her neck, counting the shudders that rippled through him, soaring with the realization that she alone knew him in this sacred moment, and that such a glimpse of vulnerability from him was her secret alone, her secret to cherish.

* * *

They lay with limbs entangled in the narrow bed, replete and floating in languid silence. Lois thought he might be asleep, but when she rose up on an elbow to examine his face, he was looking back at her, his dark lashes shuttering his sentiments.

"Are you sorry?" she whispered, because she didn't know what else to say.

His gaze searched her face, left to right and back again, methodically overturning all her hidden feelings. "No," he said at last. "Are you?"

"Never. No matter what happens tomorrow, I'll never regret sharing this with you." No matter how shattered her heart would be, come morning. No matter how long the rest of her life stretched before her with the world standing between them. No matter how many nights she would cry herself to sleep after this, missing the warm press of his body against hers, the solemn intensity with which he looked at her, the tender way he found her hand and laced his fingers through hers, his thumb drawing lazy circles on her palm.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," she tried to say, but the words unexpectedly caught on emotions she'd thought well-restrained, and when tears welled in her eyes faster than she could blink them back, he rose up and kissed them away, kissed her forehead and each cheek, quieting her, soothing her like he would a wild, fearful creature, before settling his mouth hotly on hers.

He took her like that, in that sweet, piquant limbo between grief and pleasure.

And in the final taking, gave her back the night.


End file.
